The Silent Brother
by Dialux
Summary: Drabbles on a Percy Weasley, from his POV. Completely canon, if with the tiniest hint of creative license... Mostly Percy/Penelope. Ch.6: Percy goes to Hogwarts.
1. Chapter 1

Percy likes Penelope Clearwater for a long time before he speaks to her.

She's not quite loud, not quite popular, but she's _smart; _she's a brilliant Muggleborn Ravenclaw who spends a lot of time in the library. And... she isn't pretty, not in the classical manner. Her hair is the brown of sapling trees and curls around her face just a touch too much, her eyes are the colorless hue of a Northumberland storm, her skin is the common pink of a commoner.

No proper pureblood would ever like her, so Percy is perversely attracted.

Later, he regrets choosing such a smart girl, because she can see the pain in his eyes when he walks away from his father- when he turns his back on his family.

She asks him, white dove hands alighting gently, on his collarbone, "Why?"

There's nothing of accusation, nor cloying understanding, and that's probably why he answers: "They don't understand. Dumbledore- he isn't as good as people make him out to be," his voice falters for a bare moment, before gaining strength. "If I could take them all away to... to _Tahiti- _and hide them, I would."

"They're not your puppets, either," she says mildly.

"I know _that," _Percy replies, almost insulted. "But that doesn't mean I'm not going to feel like it."

Penelope laughs, quietly, and presses a light kiss against his cheek. "A Gryffindor to the end, I see."

Percy doesn't answer, but his bristling indignation only makes her laugh harder.

* * *

**Honestly, because I feel like there isn't enough love for him in both canon and the fandom. Very short. I know. I just ship PercyxPenelope. Maybe I'm crazy... except I honestly don't care:)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: this could be construed as mature. The rest will not be, but this is an anomaly. If you don't like it, just skip on to the next one!**

* * *

The first time they make love, it is painfully awkward for both of them. They fumble their hands where, in kissing, they're sure; Penelope flinches when Percy enters her, and there are mottled bruises on her skin the next morning.

He cries, silent, soundless tears, when he sees the marks on her body. He weeps at the ravaged beauty she has become, at the ugliness he has wrought once more out of fine, fine beauty.

_I'm sorry, _he doesn't whisper. _But I break everything I love. _

Penelope is stronger, though, stronger in ways he cannot comprehend.

_No, _she murmurs soundlessly, and the bell-tolling-nightmares faded as moonlight before dawn at her touch. _I am not broken, love. Do you see? I will be whole once more, and we will be together then. I've never asked for perfection, never wanted it._

The cracks in her alabaster surface sheds only god-light on his skin.


	3. Chapter 3

Once upon a time, a little boy called Percy wanted to be a hero.

He wanted to have a princess at his side, a dragon to slay, a shining sword in his hand.

_(Look, Mummy, I have the same color hair as St. George! I'll drive off the dragon, I'll save all of you!_

_Right. Perfect Percy will actually save us from a dragon. Give me a break!) _

He went to Gryffindor, which was where heroes went, and he went on dreaming.

Then he fell in love, not with the princess but with the common peasant girl, and his dreams splintered under the inevitable shower of maturity. The shining sword transformed into a stack of books; the dragon was revealed to be nothing more than a mirrored illusion.

A small part of Percy wants to go back to the simple life of before, where heroes wept tears of blood and villains were nothing more than evil monsters. Except...

...except little Percy Weasley, who's not so little anymore, would not trade all his dreams, not for all the gold in the world.

Not if it means losing Penelope.


	4. Chapter 4

A shrill whistle pierces his thoughts.

He stuffs the last of his lunch into the trash quickly, pretending his decision isn't already made. Sweat dampens the back of his shirt, rolls down his back, but the robes flutter around him in the exact, patronizing manner he first practiced the summer before he received his prefect badge.

He closes his eyes, and stops the unconscious fidgeting fiercely.

Nobody can guess that he's going to do something monumentally stupid. Not if he wants to succeed.

It's taken him two weeks to lay the foundation for today, and if he's being truthful, two weeks to work up the courage to do this. Two weeks ago, a simple notice had landed on his desk, as it landed on almost everybody else's desks, and he read it carefully, meticulously, as he always did. He's done this before, and while each time something in his stomach twists, it's not too hard to imagine the crimes they've committed and continue the chain.

Until this one.

He walks to his office, closing the door gently behind him. Everything here is neat, is precisely organized, is pristinely perfect. A light yellow, standard Ministry letter lies on his desk. He picks it up, opens it briskly, and scans it as if he hasn't written it himself.

Then he turns around and walks down the hallway, smiling faintly at various men and women he recognizes, ignoring everyone else, to the lift. The golden bars clang shut a moment later; he tries to imagine that he didn't jump at the shriek. The paper is the key to everything, is the key to getting out safely. He stands firm, and clenches his hands tightly to stop them from fidgeting.

But, of all people, his father walks into the elevator. And he can't quite help his fierce blush, thankful for the glamour he'd placed on himself that morning. It kept his face the natural color.

_You are the only one who can do this, _he reminds himself. _You are the only one high enough to have this kind of power. Not Bill or Charlie, not Fred or George, not Ron or Ginny can do this. Get your head in the game, boy. Think about dreams later._

The man at the counter, separating the Mudbloods from everyone else, just nods at Percy. He's been down there over the past week, bringing letters down as asked, diligently. He doesn't suspect a thing when he takes the letter and files it away, nor as he calls the young woman forward and leads her through the partition. Percy nods at the man, and walks away, not checking to make sure she follows him.

_Thank you, _he doesn't dare sneer. _For all your assistance._

"_Percy?" _Penelope Clearwater looks aghast when she finally notices his face, but he doesn't react. A small part of him wants to, to turn and confess everything.

And she looks awful. Her brown hair hangs limply against her face, her skin is pale-edged parchment and her grey eyes look almost haunted against the stark whiteness.

"An office wanted to see you before your trial," he tells her blandly. He cannot afford to lose her now; silently he asks, _forgive me._

He leads her into his office and asks if she wants some tea. Then he falters, because he knows how she takes it, and he hadn't meant to remind her of their past.

She laughs, almost bitter. "No thank you, _Mr. Weasley."_

She's done what he wanted. So why does it hurt? He nods and rises. "When they call for you I'll let you know. There are some... obligations I must meet before I return. I shall see you then."

His reputation works for and against him, he reflects wryly, walking to the records section. It's been about twenty minutes since he's taken Penny; long enough to have all papers filed in the records. Also, he knows exactly what records she has. There aren't any copies either- if he destroys the master all of them will simply disappear from existence. No one will even notice.

The records keeper barely acknowledges him as he walks into the library.

Digging out the papers, Percy feels his hand tremble slightly. Is it there? Is it there? Is it-

Yes. It is.

Breathing out lightly, he holds them lightly. They are everything, this thin sheaf of papers, everything that she has done all her life, everything of value to their society. Even here, though, he doesn't dare use incendio. Spells can be tracked, and for this to work there can be nothing. Nothing to track, nothing to even _suspect. _And if all goes according to plan, they won't suspect.

Instead, he pulls out a muggle box of matches he'd bought over the weekend. The papers go up in flames the next instant, and just like that there is no longer a Penelope Clearwater. The ash drips onto the floor like black blood.

He cleans it up with a careful _scourgify, _aimed first at the floor and next his robes. Walking out, he tells the keeper disdainfully, to keep the records clean.

His walks back is as carefully controlled as his walks before. Nothing misses his sight, but the rest of him is calm. The faintest hint of smoke around his shoulders, from erasing Penny, acts as a drug: it erases the slightest amount of caution. That added pompousness seems to make people's eyes slide away even more.

Percy hides a smile expertly.

Cold fingers of ice drag down his back when he takes a detour to go to the bathroom. Once inside, he locks himself in, hands shaking. This is the most dangerous part of his entire enterprise: how to get Penny out safely, silently.

The cold wand of one Macnair is the answer.

Percy holds the wand at the tips of his fingers, feeling the fine drag of it through his bones. The Dark magic is a noxious cloud pouring from the cracked wood. He can barely steel himself to use it.

But he does, and a small paper glows brilliant blue against his fingers. The smile curling over his lips could frighten the Dark Lord himself: a Percy Weasley who thinks on his own is an asset far more damaging than any person can truly conceive. Nothing is left to chance in this deliberate scheme; there is absolutely no part of this he hasn't thought through and bet on. Every reaction has been analyzed and deconstructed, every movement calculated to get the best possible reaction. From the moment that letter landed on his desk, Percy has been on a mission, and with the departure of Penny it will end.

Because Percy is an inherently selfish creature, because he cares far more about the woman he loves, because the people around him think he might be _okay _with letting her go to a fate worse than death, because of all that and every _little _thing, every _demeaning _thing they've made him do over the past few months, he will watch them fall with a smile on his face.

Percy Weasley will watch the ministry fall because he will be the one to seal its death. He will pound the nails into its coffins, will rend the world apart to break it if he has to.

He is a cunning Slytherin when he wants to be, a dedicated Hufflepuff when he needs to be, a brilliant Ravenclaw by nature, and a ruthless Gryffindor by blood.

The bathroom's marble door swings shut behind him, and Percy walks to his office swiftly, biting back a wholly inappropriate smile and rolling the Portkey in his fingers.

Macnair's wand, broken in half, floats innocently in the lavatory behind him.

* * *

**The rest of the oneshots (I don't know how many there will be) will be posted probably Saturday. Enjoy these, till then! **


	5. Chapter 5

Percy is not a Weasley.

He is five, when he first thinks he understands: his twin brothers- only two years younger but infinitely different- paint his favorite book red. The words aren't even legible, now; the beautiful title he'd once traced over is a bare shadow, only visible if he squints. The words inside are pockmarked scarlet, dripping ink-blood over the floor.

Percy doesn't quite scream when he sees it, but it's a close thing.

His mother yelled at them, but it was only a token scolding, and Percy knows that even she does not understand his anger and betrayal at his brothers' actions.

Percy isn't Bill, after all, he isn't Charlie. He isn't a daredevil prince, who flies off to save the dragons and comes home with a veela; he's the methodical, meticulous, and, most unforgivable, _monotonous _brother to live. His father looks at him with a hint of bewildered question (_how did you become part of my family, you who are so different from me and mine? his father silently wonders, Percy knows- he_ knows- _every day._) while his mother only sees the perfect son she's always wanted.

Bill and Charlie have each other; Fred and George are inseparable; Ron and Ginny work together brilliantly. So is it any surprise that Percy is left alone?

The only son, the only brother, the only child…

There are many, many times when he wants to forget them all.


	6. Chapter 6

He is eleven when he realizes his difference.

Percy is old enough, just, to remember going for Bill's first year- his mother cried, and his father hugged him, and Charlie punched Bill on the shoulder, hard. With Charlie, it is easier; Percy remembers his mother cleaning him off right up until the last whistle, because he'd rolled around so much that morning.

He is envious of their easy acceptance, and Percy thinks that when he returns home- when he will be _twelve, _not eleven- he will be as bright and popular as them.

He waits, eagerly, for his own first trip to the Platform. Percy makes up a dream, of the student he'll meet, and the kisses his mother will shower on him, and the hugs his father will give him- the first hugs he can remember from him.

Instead, Fred falls sick the August 31, and his Mum walks into his room at nine that night and asks him, very softly, if he is alright with going with his brothers the next morning. Fred is very sick, she tells him. She needs to be there for him. So can Percy be a good older brother and go with Bill and Charlie?

Percy nods, of course.

He is a good brother, he tells himself later that night. But under the cover of his blankets, and safe from the prying eyes of his family, he cries himself to sleep.

Whatever else he tries, he is not the same.

* * *

**I'm hoping y'all like this one... See you tomorrow for the next drabble.**


End file.
